Frost and Thaw
by fliewatuet
Summary: Arvedui's refuge with the Lossoth. A tale of a brief and tentative friendship. Cowritten in response to the Tagteam Challenge at by Wolfwind and fliewatuet. Rating for violence and thematic content. WIP
1. Despair

**Disclaimer: **This story is a joint work of Wolfwind and fliewatuet in answer to the Tagteam Challenge at It will have 12 chapters all in all. All recognisable characters and concepts belong to Tolkien and whoever else holds the rights, we merely invented a small company of OCs.

* * *

**Frost and Thaw**

_Despair_

White, not dazzling nor blinding but all-consuming, swallowed sky and rocks and trees. The low hanging clouds, the knee-deep snow, all seemed alike, and Arvedui's only indication that they were - most likely - still following the line of the Blue Mountains that now lay hidden behind the clouds was the icy wind that blew right into his face, as it had done all day, biting at his nose and ears, driving water into his eyes.

Half to seek reprieve from the stinging wind, half to see how his men fared, Arvedui turned around and gazed at the bent, dark figures with growing concern. Not a single word of complaint had any of them uttered, neither during their flight from the North Downs at break-neck speed, riding to ruin their horses, nor during the weeks of anxious waiting for any signs of pursuit, or lack thereof, in an abandoned Dwarf-mine. Worsening weather and dwindling supplies had driven them out of the shelter of the mine five days ago, and since then they had ever followed the line of the Blue Mountains, or what appeared to be that direction, in the dim hope of finding food and shelter with the strange people who dwelt at the inhospitable shore of the Bay of Forochel. The Snowmen, rumour had it, they called themselves; the Lossoth they were called by the Dúnedain. But little more than their name was known, for they were a secretive folk and not known to be friendly towards strangers. Yet they were no allies of the Witch-king of Angmar either - none of them had been among the forces that he had rallied and that had ultimately driven the Dúnedain out of their homeland and out of Fornost.

The memory of defeat still left a bitter taste, but Arvedui told himself, not for the first time, that they would not have been able to hold the North Downs throughout the Winter, at least not without reinforcement either from their southern kin or from the Elves of Mithlond. But as the timely arrival of such help before the unset of winter had been highly unlikely, they had been forced to abandon their position. Arvedui himself and the most trusted men of his personal guard had covered the retreat of the main troop and then had made off northward, which had seemed like an excellent plan at the time. In hindsight, however, with hunger gnawing at his innards and wearying his limbs, it seemed to Arvedui like nothing but an ill-fated endeavour from beginning to end.

That they would not escape the Witch-king's forces without loss had been predictable, that they would be stuck in a hole in the far end of the Blue Mountains until hunger and despair drove them further North had not. But they had found their way to the South blocked by early snow and land-slides and fell beasts at the Witch-king's command. To seek help with the Lossoth now was their only choice - ill-advised though it seemed given their hostility towards strangers - or to die trying. And die they would should they not find help soon. So many had already lost their lives. Not even a fortnight ago, Hirion, Arvedui's beloved brother, had breathed his last in Arvedui's arms, had finally succumbed to illness and the wounds he had suffered during their retreat, wounds that had never fully healed. Arvedui closed his eyes against the tightening in his throat and chest that came with the memory and against the sting in his eyes that was not solely caused by the biting wind. Only this morning had they discovered that Eäréd, battle-hardened soldier though he was, would not wake to see another day. Even though he had survived the summer's battles unscathed, survived the flight and the long weeks in the mines with nary a scratch, hunger and exhaustion and the icy wind had been too much for him in the end. Gazing at the bent forms of his men, hunched shadows against the bleak landscape, Arvedui wondered who would be next to follow Hirion and Eäréd, Galworn and ...

A harsh cry ended his musings, and his sword appeared in his hand without conscious thought. As one the Dúnedain warriors straightened, their swords gleaming dull in the greyish light, and pulled together in a close circle, shields raised, each trying to discern the source of the cry in the shapeless white. Thus they stood and listened, but the howling wind that had picked up in strength drowned out every other sound.

"Show yourself!" Arvedui cried at last, at the end of his patience and near the end of his strength. But only the wind answered, whirling up fine-powdered snow.

The waiting was maddening, but none of the men dared move, until, after several long minutes, Turandir bent closer to his King and whispered, "I can see something or someone ..."

"Where?" Arvedui whispered back without turning his head, eyes strained on the shapeless landscape.

"Almost ahead of us and a bit to the left," Turandir hissed in reply, and then Arvedui saw it, a small speck above the snow, like the tip of an arrow or spear. Arvedui let his eyes roam over the snow, and now that he knew what to look for, he could discern more such objects, to their left and right, to their front and back. They were surrounded.

Arvedui stifled a sigh as he pondered their choices. If those surrounding them were under the Witch-king's command, they would have long since attacked, for Arvedui and his men were clearly discernible as Dúnedain with their armoury and bright weapons and their finely woven, if somewhat worn, thick, grey cloaks, pinned above the left shoulder with a star-shaped brooch. Mayhap they had found the Lossoth, or some other folk that was not in league with the Witch-king. Arvedui took a deep breath, swallowing hard to fight down the urge to cough as the ice-cold air burned his lungs, and lowered his sword, fully aware that by this gesture, he put his fate and that of his men in the hands of those faceless opponents who had them surrounded, well concealed by the deep snow.

"Lower your weapons," Arvedui ordered without averting his eyes from where he deemed their opponents hidden. By the rustling of clothes and the soft clinking of weapons he could tell that they obeyed his command, as they had always done, without question. A pang of guilt surged through Arvedui as he once again felt the burden of command, and was reminded that by his word alone men would live or die.

He cleared his throat. "Show yourself! We mean you no harm!" he called out again.

Nothing happened. Just as Arvedui pondered whether the cry and the shapes in the snow had been nothing but a trick of the howling wind and his tired eyes, the sound of a whispered conversation drifted to his ears. He could not make out the words, for the language was strange, its sound harsh as the icy wind. Then a shape emerged from the snow, about ten paces ahead, a man, short and stocky, clad in thick garments made of fur, a short spear in one hand.

"Tall Men mean no harm but don't put away weapons," he said, in a halting and heavily-accented version of the Common Speech.

Arvedui regarded him closely. It was hard to tell whether he wore some sort of armoury beneath the thick garments, but the single spear he bore rather looked like a hunting-device than a weapon made for war. Deciding to take his chance, for they had no other option, Arvedui sheathed his sword and motioned for his men to do the same.

"I did not lie when I said we mean you no harm," Arvedui said wearily, and with growing dread he realised that the meagre daylight had begun to wane. Swallowing his pride, he added, "Rather we would ask for your help, for we are ill-equipped to survive in the cold and our supplies of food and firewood are running low."

His opponent remained quiet for a long while, then turned to his right and spoke rapidly in his own tongue to a comrade who lay hidden from Arvedui's eyes. The conversation went on for a time, while Arvedui stood listening, only too aware of the fading daylight, the dropping temperatures, and the increasing wind. He more felt than heard his men shift behind him, testimony to their weariness and increasing discomfort.

Just as Arvedui thought about repeating his plight, a second figure emerged from the snow, the one to whom the King's opponent had spoken. The second man was slightly taller than the first one, but older and had an air of authority about him.

"Tall Men ask for help but do not give their names," the second man chided.

"Forgive our lack of manners," Arvedui replied and bowed to the second man, who seemed to be the leader of the group they faced. "We have travelled far and are wearied by hunger and hardship. I am Arvedui son of Araphant, King of Arthedain, leader of the Dúnedain of Arnor. We were driven from our lands by the Witch-king of Angmar and had to flee North and hide in the mountains. But winter came upon us, and our path to the south is blocked, so we turned North to seek aid."

The sudden stiffening of the other's posture at his mentioning of the Witch-king had not escaped Arvedui's notice, but he could not yet tell whether that was a good sign or not, for even the Witch-king's allies feared him above all else. For now, the two strangers were again talking urgently among themselves.

At long last, the older man spoke again. "I am Nansen, grandfather of the clan." He paused as if seeking for the appropriate words, then spoke again. "Arvedui, foe of Hekskonge, the one you call Witch-king, asks great favour of the Snowmen."

"I am aware of how much we ask of you," Arvedui replied. "We cannot offer you much by way of payment, but your help will not go unrewarded." With these words Arvedui withdrew from the purse at his belt a golden ring that held a crown of six emeralds. Holding out the ring on his outstretched hand, Arvedui cautiously approached Nansen, trying to ignore the spear that Nansen's younger companion aimed at him.

With a bow he offered the jewel to Nansen, who took it and examined it thoroughly. To Arvedui's surprise, Nansen presently returned the ring. "Ring is pretty, but gives not warmth and fills not belly. Ring has no value to Snowmen."

Arvedui fought hard to not let his shoulders slump in defeat, but met Nansen's eyes squarely. "This and a few like jewels is all we can offer."

"Snowmen risk the wrath of Hekskonge if we help Arvedui. Hekskonge can make frost and thaw at his will."

"I do not think the Witch-king followed us this far," Arvedui replied. "Hopefully, he deems us long perished."

"The arm of Hekskonge is long, the eyes of Hekskonge see far. Snowmen will not risk his wrath," Nansen said, and there was something final to his voice and his stance as he folded his arms across his chest. "Arvedui, foe of Hekskonge, must seek help elsewhere."

Arvedui let his head drop with a sigh. This was it. This was the end. He was cold and exhausted, and his tired mind refused to provide alternative tactics to convince Nansen to aid them. If Nansen and his people would not help them now, they were doomed. Already the sky was darkening and they had no shelter for the night, no more wood for a fire to stave off the worst of the chill. Arvedui turned to his men and what he saw ate at his heart. Defeat and utter hopelessness was written upon every face, for they all knew that they would stand little to no chance to live out the night.

A sudden howl broke the pregnant silence and sent chills down Arvedui's spine. Before he could react, however, Telion, in spite of unhealed injuries, had whipped out his bow and set an arrow to the string, aiming at something behind Arvedui's back. "Wolves," the young man hissed, and Arvedui turned around with a feeling of dread. Would their ill luck never end?

What he saw made him freeze in his movements. Next to Nansen, less than four feet away the heads of three wolves had appeared. "Nansen, do not move!" Arvedui called out, his eyes never leaving the fell beasts.

"Young man must not shoot dogs!" Nansen cried, leaping in front of the beasts and reaching out with a thickly gloved hand to pat the head of the largest one. Arvedui could not believe his eyes. Who were those Snowmen that they were in league with wolves? Mayhap luck had not eluded them, and the Snowmen's refusal to help was a token of good fortune after all.

But then his sluggish mind registered Nansen's words at last. "Telion! Don't shoot!" he yelled in desperate hope that Telion's mind would work somewhat quicker than his own. "Those are dogs, not wolves!"

Telion stood poised to shoot, then blinked at long last. With a sheepish grin he lowered his bow and bowed to his king, his shoulders sagging as the tension left his body. Arvedui released the breath he had been holding. He was just about to apologise to Nansen for the overstrung behaviour of his men, when Telion's pale face turned even paler and his grey eyes rolled in the back of his head.

"No, not the young one!" Gildur called in dismay, catching the slumping body ere Telion could hit the ground. Arvedui reached his company with a few long strides and dropped onto his knees next to Gildur, who held the young man cradled against his chest. Arvedui quickly pulled off his glove and reached for Telion's neck, desperate to convince himself that the young man still lived. He found Telion's skin too clammy and his heart beating too fast for comfort, but the heart still beat after all.

Arvedui felt someone step closer and to his surprise found Nansen standing next to him. The Snowman leader leaned over the unconscious figure of the young soldier, closely scrutinising every tear and rent in the other's clothing until his eyes came to rest upon the blood-stained bandage that was wound about the young man's left leg. He turned questioning eyes to Arvedui. "The young bow-man is hurt?"

Arvedui nodded by way of an answer. "Yes. Some of my men were attacked by wolves while hunting, about a week ago. Two were killed and two were injured, only one escaped unscathed." He sat back on his heels, head bowed with weariness and defeat. "We cannot seek help elsewhere," Arvedui said, speaking more to himself than to Nansen. "We no longer have the strength. I no longer have the strength ..."

Another urgent debate in the strange tongue of the Snowmen brought Arvedui from his stupor. The younger man had followed Nansen into the group of Dúnedain and the two were again locked in a heated discussion. The younger man gestured emphatically, pointing in turns at the Dúnedain and at the darkening landscape, while Nansen remained calm, arms folded across his chest, shaking his head ever so often. Arvedui could only guess at the topic of their debate, but after several minutes, the younger man raised his hands in a gesture of defeat, shouted a command in the howling wind and folded his arms across his chest as well.

Arvedui raised questioning eyes to Nansen. The older man looked down upon the kneeling king and studied him closely before he spoke at length. "Daughter's husband Reidar does not trust Arvedui, foe of Hekskonge. But Arvedui and young bow-man will be dead by morning without shelter. Nansen does not know if the Snowmen can help Arvedui for the entire winter. The clan must decide. For tonight, the Snowmen will help Arvedui. Come." With those words Nansen turned and called something to the other three men who had emerged from their hiding places at Reidar's command.

Arvedui rose stiffly, swaying as a bout of dizziness assailed him. A hand on his arm steadied him, and he found Boracuil, trusted Captain of his guard, at his side. "You heard what he said?" Arvedui asked, and Boracuil nodded, not releasing the grip on his king's arm. "Someone has to carry Telion," Arvedui went on, letting his eyes sweep over the ragged band of men that had once been the pride of Arthedain's army, trying to determine who had enough strength left to bear the injured young man.

"Snowmen will put young bow-man on the sliding cart. The dogs will pull the cart back to the camp of the clan," Nansen said, then called out something to his men. The wolf-like dogs sprang forward at the command of one of the Snowmen, pulling a strange looking structure - a frame made of bone with a covering of skins - easily over the snow and the low rise behind which they had lain hidden. At once Reidar and the other busied themselves with the load of the sliding cart, clearing space for the injured Dúnadain. Shooting mistrustful glances at Gildur, they took the young man from his arms, wrapped him in a thick fur blanket and secured him on the cart. Then the driver picked up what seemed to be the reins, stepped upon the back of the bone structure and called out to the dogs. Immediately they sprang forward, barking and yelping and eager to go home.

"Come, Arvedui, foe of Hekskonge," Nansen called, laying a hand upon Arvedui's arm. "The camp of the clan is not far." Still not quite believing that his ill fate seemed to have come to an end at last, Arvedui wrapped his cloak tighter about him and followed Nansen and his men into the gathering dark.

----

The sight that greeted Arvedui less than half an hour later was not what he had expected, to say the least. Not even Rivendell had evinced such a peaceful beauty as the assembly of softly glowing mounds did that lay in a shallow dale before them. Their warm light promised warmth and shelter and proved a comforting contrast against the darkening sky that spread like a shroud of dark velvet over the contourless landscape. The dogs, too, sensed that home was near. Their barking and yelping increased, as did their speed, and soon the sliding cart bearing Telion had reached the flat area surrounded by the glowing mounds. The men on foot reached that place only a short time later, and Arvedui heard more than one of his companions sigh in relief.

But the sense of peace and comfort did not last long. One of their guides gave a shout and presently the place came alive with people. At first glance, they all looked alike, clad in the same thick, fur-covered garments. Only the children stood out, being less tall than their parents, and less hostile as well. Arvedui found himself under close scrutiny of several pairs of dark, curious eyes, and while a heated debate broke out among the adults, the children whispered among themselves before breaking out in fits of giggles, pointing unconcernedly at Arvedui and his men.

Arvedui knew not whether to be amused or offended at the children's antics, so he gave them a lopsided grin in reply, which send them off into more fits of giggles. So enraptured was he by the children's delight that he failed to notice the hostile glares shot at him by the elder Lossoth. One of them gave a shout, and with drooped shoulders and disappointment clearly visible on small faces almost hidden by fur-lined hoods, the children vanished into the glowing mounds.

Arvedui sighed. When Nansen had agreed to help them for the night, he had thought that the affair was settled. Since Nansen appeared to be the leader of the Lossoth clan, Arvedui had thought that the decision whether to grant the Dúnedain shelter or not was his to make. But the commotion around him gave ample proof that the situation was far from being solved. Nansen, who stood next to him, was engaged in a heated discussion with several members of the clan, among them two of the hunters.

So Arvedui chose to listen, for he deemed it unwise to interrupt the debate, and tried to gauge the course of the argument by other signs than the words that were exchanged. But he found it increasingly difficult to discern the faces of the opposing parties, since night had come at last.

Arvedui unconsciously shifted his weight for the third time since the debate had started. Catching himself in the act, he cursed under his breath for giving away his growing impatience. That he was unable to hide it was probably the most noticeable testament to his exhaustion, even more so than the ache in his legs and back. For as one considered not unskilled in the art of diplomacy and statecraft, mere instinct should have prevented him from revealing emotions that might hinder the success of negotiations. But he could not help it now, and since the Lossoth would be well aware of the Dúnedain's desperation, he might as well act upon it.

As soon as Nansen ceased to speak, Arvedui cleared his throat in an attempt to gain his attention in as polite a way as he could think of. "Pray excuse my interference, but if there is a problem ..."

Nansen turned around, away from the exchange between one of the hunters and one of the other members of the clan. With a cock of his head, he said, "Of course, the Snowmen have a problem, Arvedui. The hunt has not gone well and winter has come early. Giving food to ten and four more men is not easy for the Snowmen. Snowmen children are hungry, too."

Arvedui nodded, trying to mask disappointment and growing despair by the gesture. "We do not require much. A warm place for the night would be more than we could hope for."

Nansen gave a sigh. "Another problem. The clan is small, has only nine snow-houses. Not much room for ten and four more men."

For a moment, Arvedui thought his ears had deceived him. Had Nansen really described their glowing homes as snow-houses? "Your homes are made of snow?" he asked, not quite able to hide his disbelief.

Nansen chuckled at Arvedui's obvious astonishment, "Yes, the homes of the Snowmen are made of snow."

Arvedui was not quite aware that he utterly failed to hide his disappointment, and was startled as he felt Nansen's gloved hand upon his arm. With a twinkle in his dark eyes, Nansen laughed, "Our homes are made of snow, but the Snowmen need warmth as well. You will see."

With a shake of his head and a somewhat sheepish grin, Arvedui said, "I am sorry, I meant no offence ..."

Nansen was clearly amused by Arvedui's reaction and turned to his own people again, speaking in his own tongue. There was a ring of humour in his voice and Arvedui felt somewhat embarrassed.

Whatever Nansen said was answered with chuckles in return that spoke of genuine amusement rather than of gloating at Arvedui's expenses. Not that Arvedui could tell the difference, but the tension among the members of the clan that had been tangible only moments before seemed to dissolve into the chilly night air like the steam of breath from Arvedui's mouth.

Yet the sudden outburst of mirth did not replace a certain wariness, and some hostile glares remained as well. As he stood there and studied the assembled Lossoth clan, trying to ignore the cold creeping from his numb toes up his legs, Arvedui became aware that the wary glances were not directed at him or his Men themselves. It was the weapons they wore that were the object of the Lossoth's concern.

Arvedui could have slapped himself at the realisation. Ragged though they were, they were still clad in the garb of the King's guard and were armed for war. That and their superior height should be enough to unsettle most people, even those known to be more friendly towards strangers than the Lossoth.

Turning again to Nansen, Arvedui asked, "Would it settle your concerns if we handed over our weapons?"

Nansen regarded Arvedui with a raised brow, pondering the offer. After a while he turned to his people and spoke again. One by one they gave a curt answer, though Arvedui could only guess whether they spoke in the Dúnedain's favour or not. Once they had all voiced their opinion, Nansen looked up at Arvedui, cocked his head and said with a small smile, "The Snowmen prefer Tall Men without their weapons."

Arvedui replied with a polite nod and an inward sigh. Had he been more alert, they could have settled the entire affair half an hour ago and would by now be safely settled and thawing their frozen limbs. Turning to his men, he said, "You heard what he said. Remove your weapons and put them down before Nansen. But do so slowly and deliver them one by one. We would not appear to pose a threat to our hosts." And with deliberately slow movements, Arvedui unbuckled his own sword and laid it in the snow at Nansen's feet. One by one his men followed his example, putting down swords and bows and spears, occasionally shooting cautious glances at the members of the Lossoth-clan that stood around them.

As the last half-filled quiver was placed upon the ground, Nansen again addressed his people, but whatever he had said, he received no answer. He waited for several moments, and Arvedui silently marvelled at his patience. Then Nansen spoke again. This time his request was answered, but Arvedui doubted that Nansen had received the answer that he had expected. Two of the hunters had spoken and both now stood with their feet apart, arms folded in front of their chests, glaring at Arvedui and his men with open hostility. But then, after a few moments of hesitation, another of the hunters spoke. His words elicited quite a response from the other two, for they barked back at him as if they had just been slighted. Yet Nansen only chuckled softly at their replies, and Arvedui thought he had seen a glint of appreciation in Nansen's eyes directed at the one who had provoked the other two.

While the three hunters argued loudly among themselves, Nansen spoke in a much quieter voice to the remainder of his clan. After another short exchange of words, though much less emotional than the previous one, Nansen turned to Arvedui with that familiar cock of his head and announced with an open smile, "The Snowmen have agreed to allow the Tall Men into their homes. Arvedui can stay in Nansen's home, and the young bow-man as well. Savea, my wife, is the healer of the clan. She will know how to help the young bow-man. And Nansen has room for one more man."

Arvedui felt his knees grow weak with relief. He bowed to Nansen, then said, "I thank you for your kindness. If you agree, I would ask Dinuir to stay with us as well. He is the healer of our group and I fear Telion will need all the aid he can get."

"So be it," said Nansen in reply, and Dinuir who knelt next to the sliding cart bearing Telion, and acknowledged his King's request with a nod.

"Two men will stay with Markku, my son," Nansen went on. "Two will stay with Reidar and two with Egli. But Egli wants to chose his guests."

Arvedui nodded in agreement, and Nansen motioned for one of the hunters who had openly opposed Nansen's offer to the Dúnedain to step forward. Arvedui wondered how he had been persuaded to allow not only one but two of the strangers into his home, and made a mental note to ask Nansen about it at some later time. For now Egli swept his gaze over the assembled Dúnedain, then pointed at Gildur, who knelt next to the sliding cart as well. "You stay with Egli tonight," he declared, then continued his search for a suitable companion.

"And you," Egli announced at length, pointing into the crowd of Dúnedain. Arvedui could hardly stifle a groan.

With a hopefully indiscernible nudge he tried to silence his chuckling second in command, but Boracuil only whispered, "He could hardly have chosen a better pair."

"Gildur, Romendil, a word, if you please," Arvedui called to Egli's guests of choice. Of course, Egli could not have known, but he had picked with unfailing certainty the two among his men who were known to be like fire and water and hardly managed more than half an hour within each other's company without breaking into a battle of words.

Switching to Sindarin so as not to offend their hosts, Arvedui hissed, "I would not have put the two of you together, as you well know. As it is, I have no say in the matter. But refrain from your usual quibbling! If only for this one night."

The looks he received by way of an answer spoke for themselves. Neither Gildur nor Romendil were well pleased at the reminder, but they had the good grace to keep quiet. With a bow to their King, they turned and followed Egli to the snow-house that was his home.

Turning away from the most troublesome among his men, he found himself under Nansen's scrutiny. "Is there a problem?" Nansen asked, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

Arvedui tiredly rubbed his eyes, then shook his head. "Nay, there should be no problem. It is just ..." he paused for a moment, then shook his head. "Never mind. Are there more who wish to chose their guests for themselves?"

Nansen accepted Arvedui's change of subject without further comment, but spoke in his own tongue again. The hunter who had stood next to Egli - Reidar, Nansen had called him - stepped forward next and repeated Egli's spectacle of choosing his guests. So as not to let Gildur and Romendil stand out, Arvedui repeated his earlier actions, calling those that had been chosen. "Boracuil, Lhaeghen," he said, again switching to Sindarin. "You know what I expect of you."

Sketching a bow, they acknowledged the unspoken command, then turned to follow their host. Arvedui did not fail to notice Nansen's relieved sigh as the two hunters had disappeared with their guests in tow. "Dividing the rest of your men is easier. Two men will stay with Markku, and two with Kirk. Stian and Ingo will sleep with the family of Stian, so two or three men can sleep in home of Stian and Ingo."

"Good." Arvedui let his eyes sweep over the rest of his men who stood behind him. "Turandir, Angahûn, Thalanur," he called, then waited until the three approached. "Will you be fine on your own?" he asked in Sindarin.

As the three nodded in answer, one of the Lossoth who had not been among the hunters stepped forward. "I am Stian," he said in the same halting and heavily accented speech as Nansen. "Come, I show you the way." With a bow to their King the three turned and left, following Stian into the night.

Arvedui regarded the remaining men, then chose Belegond and Lhandiriel to stay with the hunter Nansen had called Kirk, and Formendacil and Manomir to go with Markku, Nansen's son. But before Arvedui could summon his men to continue with his impromptu ritual, he found Nansen's hand upon his arm. Once assured that he had Arvedui's attention, Nansen beckoned him to lean closer, and whispered, "Arvedui, please tell your men not be offended. Kirk has a wife but no children. He is very ashamed because of that. He does not want the Tall Men to know ..."

Arvedui blinked, not quite understanding Nansen's obvious concern but nodded to appease him before calling Belegond and Lhandiriel to him. In Sindarin he told them what Nansen had said about Kirk's predicament, and asked them to act with caution lest they humiliate their host. Like the others before them they bowed and turned, following their host without further words.

Arvedui repeated the procedure one more time, bidding Formendacil and Manomir good night, which they acknowledged with a grin and a bow, before following Markku into his home.

Which left only Arvedui, Dinuir and Telion among several Lossoth who presently busied themselves with unloading the sliding cart and releasing the dogs. "Come, Arvedui, foe of Hekskonge," Nansen said, "this night you will learn the comfort of a snow-house."

----

_To be continued ..._

* * *

**A/N:**

_Hekskonge:_ Witch-king in the language of the Snowmen.

Written by _Wolfwind & fliewatuet_  
Posted: 2004-11-23


	2. Decisions

**Frost and Thaw**

_Decisions_

Nansen finally abandoned any hope of sleep that night. The young bow-man was restless in his fever, and although this would not usually be enough to keep Nansen awake, the constant reminder of the choice he had made, and the one that still lay before his clan, was far more difficult to ignore.

The other Tall Men in their snow-house were as deep in slumber as two great bears, but Nansen doubted that his wife had slept any more than he. She hovered over the wounded bow-man, even though she had done all she could for him.

He sat up and reached out to touch her shoulder. She had rebuffed all his offers of aid, but surely now she grew weary.

"Rest is needful," he reminded her in a soft voice so as not to wake their guests. "Another could watch for a time."

"No." Savea shook her head, as she had in response to each of his previous offers. Her tone made it clear that argument would have no effect.

He watched in the dim light of her lamp as she gently stroked the young man's sweat-soaked hair. It was odd, he reflected, how quickly she had gone from wariness of the strangers to treating them as if they were her own children. Perhaps it was the suffering of the bow-man that had caused her to change her mind; it was only after seeing him that she had ceased to scold him for bringing ten and four more men to fit into their snow-houses. Indeed, upon recognising the pain the boy was in, she had instead begun scolding them for keeping him out in the cold, insisting that they allow the Tall Men to stay. He shook his head; truly, he did not understand her mind.

She must have felt his steady gaze upon her, for she said tartly, "Perhaps the dogs are foolish enough to desire a run before the rest of the camp awakens, if sleep is so elusive."

He smiled and obediently rose to gather his outdoor clothing, taking care not to disturb the sleepers near him. No one disobeyed Savea when she used that tone. Even the Tall Men had ceased to hover over their wounded comrade at her commands and had meekly submitted to having their frostbite treated before wrapping themselves in proper furs to sleep.

He tried to forget the visible toll hunger and cold had taken on the strangers, ill-dressed and ill-prepared for the land that was the Snowmen's home. Dwelling on it was of no use; he had had enough of a struggle to convince his family to allow them to stay one night, and the likelihood that the clan would agree to grant further aid was slim. He could not think about what that would mean to the gaunt, exhausted men; the good of his own family was of the most importance.

He slipped out of the snow-house, steeling himself against the blast of cold air that met him at the end of the tunnel. The dogs did not expect him so early; they were still curled up in tight balls, heads tucked under tails, covered by the light layer of snow that had fallen during the night. Fugl, his lead dog, was the first to hear his footsteps. She sprang up, scattering snow in all directions, and leapt at him, barking. At the sound, the others awoke as well, loudly following her example.

"Quiet," he snapped firmly, before they awoke the entire camp. The clamour died down reluctantly. Tails wagging, they followed him to the sliding cart.

Swiftly, he hitched them into line. Excited for the early run, they were unusually well-behaved; even Sanger did not snap at his neighbours. As soon as Nansen stepped behind the cart, they leapt forward. He let them run, allowing the speed to blow all thoughts of the Tall Men and the problems they created from his mind.

When they were farther from the camp, the dogs began to bark again, and he did not silence them. Soon, he heard other dogs calling in reply ahead of him; to his surprise, another sliding cart was out. He slowed his team, not wishing to come too close to the stranger in the dimness. The stars and moon were hidden by swift-moving clouds and gave little light; he could not see far enough ahead to travel safely at such speed. It had been foolish to start out in such a way, but the speed had been refreshing.

They continued at this slower pace until he heard Fugl begin whining. "Halt. Quiet," he commanded in an undertone, and the dogs obeyed.

"A man rides," he called, raising his voice to identify himself. He waited for a reply.

"It is a good time for riding," came the answer.

Nansen left his dogs and walked toward Reidar's voice. The two men met only a short distance from the sliding carts. "Riding is pleasant when sleep is elusive," Nansen commented.

"And sleep is ever elusive with barbarians in the house," Reidar grumbled. "With each breath, they make noises like seals breaking the ice to breathe."

Nansen decided to ignore the complaint. Reidar was clearly still unhappy with the decision to allow the strangers into their camp, and he would repeat every perceived flaw in the Tall Men if Nansen offered to listen.

"Perhaps there is room for two along this path," he suggested instead. The dogs were liable to fight if they were in close enough proximity, but both teams were well trained. And perhaps the struggle to keep his dogs in line would distract Reidar from complaining about the strangers and Nansen's offer of hospitality.

"Company is always welcome," Reidar agreed. Nansen was unsure of the sincerity of the statement; his tone was perfectly neutral, and clouds made it too dark for Nansen to read his face. Accepting the words without question, he merely nodded and returned to his sliding cart.

As they set off beside one another, Nansen wondered whether it would be wise to speak of the Tall Men at all. Reidar was likely to complain, but the issue had to be discussed.

"It seems that the wounded bow-man may recover, given time," he told his daughter's husband at last.

"Given time in the snow-houses, eating the food of the Snowmen," Reidar called back with bitterness.

"If he dies nearby from lack of aid, surely his spirit will seek revenge and send away all prey from the unkind people who caused his death." Nansen repeated the argument he had used the previous night to convince his family. Inwardly, however, he still wondered if his offer of shelter had been wise. His words were true, there was danger in abandoning them; besides, beyond the risk of angry spirits, the sight of the wounded young bow-man had torn at his heart. He had been loath to simply leave the strangers to die. But judging from the reception the clan had given them, a night's lodging may have only offered false hope. That may have been crueler than simply leaving them at the first meeting.

"Perhaps they should be driven far from the camp," Reidar said. "The wrath of Hekskonge would remove all prey more surely than the death of a stranger."

"So they would die alone, unlamented, with none to pity them."

"Pity?" Surprise sounded in Reidar's voice; he stopped his team and turned to look at Nansen. "What meaning has pity for the Tall Men? They are not Snowmen. They are strangers; they know nothing of this land. If they die, they have only themselves to blame. Why should one pity them?"

The moon broke free from the clouds, illuminating Reidar's previously shadowed figure. Nansen could see in him nothing but contempt for the ignorant foreigners who had invaded the lands of the Snowmen.

"Perhaps this is true," he replied carefully. "The Tall Men are ignorant of this land. But they know much of the lands beyond it, which the Snowmen have never seen. They are not Snowmen, but they are Men, injured, exhausted, and hungry. I do pity them."

Reidar looked down, considering his words. Both men called to their teams and they rode on in silence, turning inward as was usual in such disagreements. Nansen pondered what Reidar had said. Truly, concern for the Snowmen, for his clan, was paramount. Pity for these strangers should not lead him to risk his own family. But each time he thought of the wounded bow-man's pale face, or Arvedui's look when he had confessed that he no longer had strength to go on, it rose in him again.

His thoughts were interrupted when Reidar suddenly called his team to a halt. Startled, it took him a moment to recognise what had stopped them: a line of tracks, clear in the snow before them. Reidar was already striding toward them.

"Wolves," he proclaimed after only a glance. "Hekskonge's beasts have come in pursuit of the Tall Men. Aiding them has brought doom upon the clan."

Nansen's heart filled with dread, but something about the tracks struck him. He crouched down to study them more carefully. After a long moment, he spoke. "The light is deceitful; it hides what may be the truth."

Reidar frowned, but he obediently squatted next to his elder to examine the prints in closer detail.

"Look." Nansen reached out one gloved hand and set it over a track. The mitten covered it completely. "These are much smaller than Hekskonge's beasts, and lighter, as well." Something caught his eye; he stripped off the mitten to lift a small tuft of hair from the ice. He held it up to the moonlight. "It is white!"

Reidar took the hair carefully. Slowly, his frown gave way to a look of excitement. "The Sandulven? Can it possibly be?"

"So it appears." Matching excitement grew in Nansen's voice. "Our brothers have not come to this area since Hekskonge's evil drove them out. Surely this is an omen."

"Surely," Reidar breathed in agreement. Both gazed upon the tracks, recalling the old stories of how the wolves had taught the Snowmen, long ago, the ways of survival in the icy North. The wolves had cared for them as elder brothers. Songs were still sung of that long-ago time. More often sung, though, were the more recent laments about the departure of their brothers when evil rose in their homeland, replacing them with the corrupted monsters of Hekskonge.

"It seems," Nansen observed as a new thought occurred to him, "that the Sandulven have returned at the same time as the Tall Men entered our camp. The Tall Men are much like our brothers, in truth; they, too, are a pack driven out by Hekskonge. Perhaps the two events are linked."

Reidar looked thoughtful, but he spoke no words of agreement. "The clan should speak of this," he said instead.

Nansen nodded, and they returned to their sliding carts. Reidar was right; the sun would soon begin to rise. The decision should not be delayed any longer.

The ride back was completely silent. Nansen hoped that his daughter's husband was pondering his words and the possible meaning of the appearance of the Sandulven, but he could not be certain. He wondered if this would change the opinions of any of his family. The previous night, Markku, his son, had finally shamed Egli and Reidar into agreeing to open their snow-houses with jests about their greed and inhospitality, but a better solution would have to be reached on this day. Such jests were useful in their places, but they had left Egli, especially, feeling bitter and resentful. He had no wish for such feelings to continue in the camp; they would only divide the clan, making the always precarious task of survival even more difficult.

Light was appearing in the Eastern sky as the two men neared the camp. Nansen looked up, realising that it was later than he had thought. They would get very little hunting done that day, if the discussions began so late. The supplies of meat were running low, for the previous day's hunt had been unsuccessful, but resolving the issue of the Tall Men was more important at this moment. After all, if they allowed the Tall Men to stay, they would add ten and four more hunters to the clan.

Remembering Arvedui's shock at the sight of the snow-houses, Nansen had sudden doubts about his ability to hunt. However, surely this was ridiculous. The Tall Men carried weapons. Even if they were unacquainted with the specific creatures the Snowmen ate, they could be of aid in the hunt.

As he halted the dogs next to his snow-house, he saw that the discussions had already begun. The women sat in a circle on the far side of the camp, talking as they worked, while the men drifted about, forming and disbanding scattered groups, discussing the situation in low tones. Only the children seemed oblivious to the tension, laughing and playing as if all was well.

Unhitching the dogs and tossing them some frozen fish from the storage pit dug outside the snow-house, Nansen observed the groups carefully. The women seemed near reaching agreement, and seeing Savea's cheerful face, he suspected that they were in favour of allowing the Tall Men to stay. The men, however, were clearly undecided. Some spoke with Markku, others with Egli; the two men seemed to be expressing the major points of view. Others had wandered off to think alone. Consensus appeared far from being reached.

He moved toward Egli, who was speaking earnestly to Halden and Kirk, while Aricin stood in the background. Nansen thought that he had considered all of the reasons to refuse the strangers aid, but it would be wise to hear Egli's words on the matter as well.

"The Snowmen are no cowards, but Hekskonge has much power," the man was saying as Nansen approached. "It is not cowardice to seek to avoid the ill-will of one so great. If the Tall Men claim enmity with Hekskonge, surely their paths will be tracked, just as a wolf pack follows the trail of a weak reindeer. The wolves do not rest until they find their prey, and the presence of the prey of Hekskonge in this camp will call down his wrath upon the Snowmen as well. Such is not the way of wisdom."

Aricin had been standing behind Halden and Kirk, withdrawn from the conversation. Now he stepped forward. "Is the way of the ground squirrel, hiding in the earth, the only way of wisdom, father of my wife? The wolves may slaughter the weak reindeer, but one that is strong is more powerful than his foe."

Nansen looked at his grandson, bemused. Did he still hold such childish faith in the abilities of the Snowmen? To be sure, he was little more than a child himself, but he should know well the might of Hekskonge, who commanded frost and thaw. Deliberately turning against him would be only the act of a dying reindeer brought to bay, not the brave resistance of a young buck in his prime, as Aricin seemed to think.

It was only then that Nansen recognised the cunning nature of the young man's statement. It was true that the Snowmen were much weaker than Hekskonge, and all knew it. However, Egli could not call his clan weak in so many words without dishonour. The implication was accepted by all, but such a statement would lose him support.

"Forgive me; I am not so skilled with words, and your cleverness finds meaning far beyond what I intended," Egli countered after a moment of thought. "Truly a strong reindeer may stand against wolves, but Hekskonge's might exceeds that of even the greatest wolf pack. His foes may be the strongest of men, but he would still be likely to prevail. Such a monster cannot be fought, only avoided."

"No, no, I have none of this cleverness you speak of," Aricin said quickly to ward off the ill-luck attracted by such a compliment. "I am too stupid to grasp properly what you are saying. I would say that a reindeer cannot live in fear of the wolf; he must return to his feeding grounds each year, even if his path leads through the territory of a pack. He cannot hide away from danger, or he will starve."

"This is true for the reindeer," Egli admitted. "He cannot abandon his feeding grounds out of fear. However, the Snowmen have nothing to lose by sending the Tall Men away. They are no source of food or fur; indeed, they take food from hungry children."

"Unless, that is, their leaving offends the Lady of the Seas by breaking the taboo of hospitality. She is easily offended, as all know. She may withdraw the sea creatures to her home, and the children will have even less."

"What would a spirit of the Snowmen care for the lives of strangers?"

Aricin folded his arms across his chest. "None can fathom the way of wights. Her taboos must be obeyed."

Egli looked away, brow furrowing. Clearly, this idea had not presented itself to him, and he took time to ponder the possibility before framing a reply.

Before he came to a conclusion, Reidar came up behind him, looking troubled. Taking his hunting partner by the arm, Reidar led Egli a few steps away from Aricin, bending his head to speak softly in his companion's ear.

Nansen assumed that he was spreading the news of the coming of the true wolves and its possible significance. It would take Egli time to determine what he believed to be the meaning of this omen; meanwhile, Nansen decided to hear Markku's words.

Aricin followed him across the camp; Halden and Kirk remained, speaking in low tones. Nansen noticed Stian and Ingo standing in silence to the North; both appeared to be deep in thought. Ahead, Markku was speaking with his younger brother.

"The danger of Hekskonge cannot be denied," Torsten was saying.

"This is true, but there are other dangers as well. Perhaps if we refuse to aid them, the Tall Men will take their metal weapons and turn on us as rabid dogs."

Torsten nodded; he had clearly considered such a possibility, although he said nothing.

"In any case, fear is not a wise reason to make a decision. Shall these men be sent out to die for naught but a fear?" Markku continued.

"What else should be considered then, my brother?"

"Look at their metal weapons," Markku said eagerly. That was no surprise; all knew of the power of metal weapons compared to those of bone the Snowmen used. Such things were much admired. "Surely they have much knowledge of things undreamed of by the Snowmen. What could be learnt from them?"

Torsten looked away, considering this. Markku remained silent as his brother thought, though Nansen could see that he wished to add more.

"This is possible, but the danger is still real," the younger hunter said at last, folding his arms across his chest.

Before Markku could reply, Egli stalked up to him.

"It is said that a man has spoken unforgivable insult," he accused, glaring at Markku.

Nansen looked to Markku in sudden horror. Could he have truly been so foolish as to insult Egli in Reidar's hearing? Had that been the meaning of Reidar's troubled look when he had approached his hunting partner? His heart sank as he recognised the guilty expression on his son's face. It was true, then. He hoped against hope that Markku would simply apologise and let the issue dissolve, but he knew his eldest son too well to expect any such action.

As he feared, Markku drew himself up haughtily. "What man would find insult in a simple declaration of truth?"

"You dare claim to know the truth of my thoughts?" Fury rose in Egli's voice, and Nansen winced. Such a claim was the height of rudeness, deriding the very humanity of the one whose thoughts were supposedly known, and although he was certain his son had intended to say no such thing, he was plainly in no mood to be conciliatory.

Markku laughed. "Of course; your thoughts are as simple as the thoughts of the ground squirrel. Eat, hide, mate – these are all that concern you."

The women began to approach, attention turned from their own discussion by the angry voices. Nansen saw each person draw near, recognise the situation, and stop at a distance from the combatants. Clearly, they considered a fight inevitable.

As Egli moved closer to Markku, rage emanating from every line of his posture, Nansen took a desperate step between them. "Cease!"

Neither man so much as looked at him; their eyes were locked on one another. Torsten took his father's arm and drew him away. "No words will be heard now," he said. "The time is past for talking."

His son was right; both men now had their hands on the hilts of their knives. All too soon, blood would spill; there was naught that anyone could do to prevent it.

It was the fault of the Tall Men. Sudden, irrational anger seized him. If they had not come, this would not have occurred. Perhaps they truly had brought a curse upon the Snowmen. How else could hunters be so quick to shed the blood of a brother?

He wished that the Tall Men had all been rent by the beasts of Hekskonge before he ever encountered them. When one of his clan died, Nansen vowed inwardly, he would see the Tall Men driven out for the weather to destroy. And he would curse them with every breath that Hekskonge's wrath would overtake them.

A shivering howl reverberated through the air. The Snowmen turned about quickly, hands grasping hunting spears or knives as they searched for the source of the sound. Even Egli and Markku involuntarily broke eye contact. Had Hekskonge's wrath truly come so speedily?

Another howl echoed the first, and Nansen recognised the song-like tones. This noise could not have come from the throat of one of Hekskonge's beasts.

Reidar recognised it at the same time. "The Sandulven!" he breathed.

All eyes turned to him. "The tracks of a pack were seen this morning," he explained absently, eyes fixed on the South, whence the sounds had come. "They have returned." He squinted in the light of the slowly-rising sun. "Look!"

Nansen was certain that even Egli and Markku followed his gaze, straining their eyes to see the truth of his words. And there, on a rise beyond the shallow dale containing their camp, they saw him.

No one could mistake him for a servant of Hekskonge. Proud independence shone in every line of his form. Shining pure white in the dawning light, he stood motionless for a long moment. Awe filled the clan at the sight of one of their long-sundered brethren here, where his kind had not been seen for generations.

Noise behind Nansen distracted him from the sight. Glancing back unwillingly, he saw that some of the Tall Men had heard the howls and emerged from the snow-houses, looking wary.

"Peace," he called to them in their own tongue. "This is no enemy."

He did not know whether they believed his words, but he spared them no more attention, turning back to admire the Sandulv. Finding the tracks earlier had brought excitement, but actually seeing him was far more powerful. A beloved brother, another foe of Hekskonge, had returned to them. Suddenly he had no doubt as to the meaning of this sign. Hekskonge's power was waning.

Another call answered from the distance, and the wolf before them sped off, passing like a gust of snow from their gaze. Nansen turned back to his clan and saw that all had felt the same awe. Surely this would end any thoughts of fighting.

He decided to reinforce the message. "The Sandulven have come to us," he proclaimed. He stared into the eyes of Egli and Markku. "Will they be driven off by Snowmen shedding the blood of Snowmen? Will they see their brothers acting with less restraint and knowledge than they possess?"

The hunters did not meet his gaze directly, but neither did they remove their hands from the hilts of their knives.

"This need not be settled by death," Nansen reminded them. "Think of the example of our brothers, who avoid fighting to bloodshed." An idea occurred to him, and he gestured to Aricin and his wife, who was pregnant with their first child. "It may be that new life soon comes. At that time, there would be a celebration, and a song-fight would be appropriate." His voice was firm, as if he expected only compliance, but silently he pleaded with them to allow their tempers time to cool, that they might release their anger in words rather than with blood.

Markku and Egli stared at one another as the clan around them held its breath. At last, slowly, Markku released his knife. "My singing voice is very poor, but perhaps someone would overlook that and join me?"

Egli hesitated a moment longer but finally followed Markku's example. "I will surely lose in disgrace, but even so, I will sing."

Nansen immediately took control of the conversation again, unwilling to allow the mood inspired by the Sandulv to pass before continuing. "The question of the Tall Men still awaits resolution."

Most of the clan eyed Markku and Egli cautiously, with sideways glances, and said nothing. All that was desired at this point was a settlement that would avoid any more threat of bloodshed.

"They did come at the same time as the Sandulven," Aricin observed at last, echoing Nansen's thoughts upon finding the tracks. "Perhaps it would not be wise to send them away."

Nansen looked around. Clearly, no one wished to risk antagonising their brothers, but the dread of Hekskonge remained strong.

"Perhaps if snow-houses were built for them outside the camp of the clan," Halden said. "They will not die of cold, but neither will they expose our camp to risk."

"But what of food? Can four and ten more men be fed from the kills of only ten hunters?"

This time Kirk suggested a solution. "Let them be as orphans. If they aid in a kill, they are entitled to their fair share; beyond that, any person may give them scraps as he chooses."

This idea had not occurred to Nansen, but he immediately nodded. It was a clever compromise; just as orphans learnt strength by fending for themselves, so would these men, childlike in so many ways, grow in the understanding of this land. The wolves could not take this amiss. At the same time, any could choose to give or withhold aid; such action would be indirect, unnoticed by the clan. Perhaps it would avert any further fighting over the Tall Men.

Other nods echoed his around the circle. Nansen caught Egli's gaze for a moment, but although the man did not gesture approval, he did not speak against the idea either.

Nansen waited a breath longer to be certain that there was no dissent, then spoke. "So be it."

----

_To be continued ..._

_

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**A/N:**

_Sandulv__ (pl. Sandulven):_ "True wolf (wolves)" in the language of the Lossoth

Written by _Wolfwind & fliewatuet_  
Posted: 2004-11-30


	3. Arrangements

**Frost and Thaw**

_Arrangements_

Arvedui stretched languidly. He could hardly remember the last night he had slept in so comfortable a bed. The memories of nights spent in his own home, in his own bed with his beloved Fíriel at his side seemed to belong to another - or to another's - life. The better part of the year he had spent afield, on various campaigns against the forces of Angmar; on campaigns that had ultimately proved in vain. For the better part of the year he had slept among his warriors, shared with his men the meagre comfort of such tents as could be salvaged before Fornost fell. Since they had been forced to abandon the North Downs, their only shelter against wind and weather and the nightly chill had been a few blankets and their own cloaks. So for the moment, in spite of bitter memories, he felt truly at ease. He felt warm and rested and was loath to leave the soft and warm cocoon of furs that Nansen and his wife had prepared for him and his two companions the other night.

Dinuir stirred next to him. There was a rustling of cloth and fur before a dark head appeared above the blankets. "Good morrow, my lord," Dinuir yawned, then gave a sheepish grin as he recalled his manners.

Arvedui waved aside the unspoken apology, as he always did. "A good morrow to you, too! I take you slept well?"

"Like one dead, I fear. I would have never expected these snow-houses to be so comfortable," Dinuir replied, and Arvedui followed his gaze, taking in the small but efficiently set up interior of Nansen's home.

The round room was cast in a blueish light - faint daylight penetrating the walls of snow and ice - but it was sufficient to discern the thick, short-haired fur that covered the entrance, the stacks of supplies that sat on the floor next to it, and the shelf build of snow where Savea kept her strange-smelling lamp, her cooking gear and the set of small sharp knives she had used the other night to clean the festering wolf-bite on Telion's leg that had caused the young man's fever.

Raised voices abruptly ended Arvedui's contemplation. He sighed. Gone was the content feeling that all his worries were solved or did not matter for the moment, chased away by angry shouts, an unwelcome reminder that their shelter was only a temporary one.

"It seems I cannot enjoy the comfort much longer," Arvedui said. "Something upsets our hosts, and I should investigate." With a resolute sweep of his arm, he threw aside the furs and blankets before the prospect of the cold outside could stop him. Shuffling towards the edge of the sleeping area, he reached his clothes, hanging to dry near Savea's stone lamp.

With another sigh he stood, grimacing as blood rushed into his toes, which had been near frozen from their seemingly endless trek through the snow in what Savea had scolded _stockings_ with a scowl that would have sent grown warriors running.

However inappropriate his clothes and boots, he donned them. They were not completely dry but at least warm, and the discomfort was bearable. Behind him, Dinuir started to rise as well, and Arvedui turned. "Stay with Telion, if you would. His fever should have broken, or Savea would not have left, but I would not have him wake on his own."

Dinuir bowed his head, but could not quite hide his relief. "As you wish, my lord. I have no real desire to venture outside as it is."

"Then let us hope that the Lossoth will allow us to stay, at least for another few days," Arvedui said as he turned towards the tunnel leading to the snow-house's entrance. "If they do not, we will be trudging through the snow again ere the day is ended." Not awaiting Dinuir's reply, Arvedui slipped through the fur-curtain, then crawled through the short tunnel that lead outside.

Thick clouds, heavy with the onset of snow, covered the sky, and Arvedui could not tell whether the sun had yet fully risen or not. But the time of day and the position of the sun were the least of his worries. The sight that greeted him filled him with dread, and the feeling of utter despair returned full force: before him the entire clan was gathered, circled around two hunters facing each other. Even though most of the Lossoth's customs were still strange to Arvedui, the posture of the two hunters was that of two men about to engage in deadly combat, and their hands hovered only inches above the hunting knives strapped to their belts.

Arvedui closed his eyes for a moment, weary beyond words of blood-shed and war, but his wish alone would not prevent the fight. A shivering howl broke the pregnant silence that had settled over the camp, and Arvedui's eyes flew open. As one the Lossoth turned towards the sound, but their initial apprehension soon turned to awe, much to Arvedui's surprise.

Before he could fully understand what new threat they faced, a shout from Nansen broke the silence that had followed the howl. "This is no enemy!" he called, just as Arvedui discovered the object of the Lossoth's awe. There, on top of the low rise that sheltered the camp stood a creature the like Arvedui had never encountered before. A wolf it was, but Arvedui had no doubt about the truth of Nansen's words. There was a pride in its posture, a kingly air surrounding it that none of the Witch-king's creatures shared. Another howl rent the air, and then the creature was gone, leaving an awe-struck clan of Lossoth behind.

For a long moment, the Lossoth stood frozen, as if still enraptured by the white wolf's spell. But then Nansen turned and spoke to his clan again. Though Arvedui did not understand a single word of what was said, the change of mood was palpable. The tension had not left the group, but the hostility was gone. Even the two hunters, who had been on the brink of a fight only moments ago, now spoke with each other.

The debate did not last long. Presently Nansen nodded at a suggestion made by another, then glanced at each of the assembled men in turn, awaiting their affirmation. Again he gave a nod, as if concluding the debate by that solitary gesture. Then he spoke a few words, a final declaration, turned and walked away from his clan, approaching the place where Arvedui stood, by now joined by the better part of his small troop.

"Clan has decided," Nansen said as soon as he reached the Dúnedain, his voice grave. "Clan will help Tall Men."

A sigh rose from the Dúnedain, and Arvedui felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders and his heart. The lines of laughter that crinkled the tanned skin around Nansen's eyes deepened with amusement at the Dúnedain's reaction to his words. Recalling his manners, Arvedui bowed to the clan leader, "There are not words enough to express our gratitude. We would not survive without your aid."

Nansen acknowledged Arvedui's thanks with a cock of his head, but when his eyes again met Arvedui's, the hidden amusement was gone. Arvedui stiffened.

"Clan cannot give food to ten and four more men," Nansen declared. "And snow-houses of clan cannot house ten and four more men. Clan will help Tall Men build snow-houses outside of camp. There Tall Men will live as orphans. Each Snowman may give food to Tall Men if he has some to spare. If Tall Men hunt with Snowmen and help in a kill, Tall Men will get their share."

"Orphans ..."

Nansen cocked his head, raising an eyebrow in silent demand of an explanation. "That is all Snowmen can offer. Tall Men will accept or Tall Men will leave."

Breaking free from dark memories, Arvedui hastily replied, "Your offer is more than acceptable. I sincerely hope that we will be given the chance to repay your kindness in time."

Again, Nansen cocked his head in acknowledgement. But the unspoken question remained, even as the smaller man turned to lead the Dúnedain towards the edge of the camp. Falling into step beside Nansen, Arvedui explained, his voice low, "Our homes are destroyed, our people scattered. So many have perished. We are indeed orphans in a way."

Even as he spoke those words, he had to swallow hard as memories came rushing back at him: memories of the seemingly endless trek of fugitives that had left Fornost under what meagre protection the defeated army could offer; memories of Araphant, his son and heir, proud defiance shining his eyes as Arvedui had given the heirlooms of his house into his keeping: the sceptre of Annúminas, the Elendilmir, star of the Dúnedain of the North, and the shards of Narsil, the legendary sword of Elendil. But hardest to bear were the memories of Fíriel, of their last desperate kiss before he had helped her mount her horse, and of the sight of her as she had turned one last time before vanishing behind the pillars of Fornost's ruined West-gate. He could only hope that she had reached safety beyond the Lune.

A hand on his arm interrupted the flow of images, and Arvedui found Nansen facing him. Pinching the bridge of his nose with gloved fingers, he tried to compose himself. It took more than a deep breath for the tightness in his throat to vanish, but within a few moments his curiosity was back as he recalled the question that had been foremost on his mind since the howl of a wolf had turned the tide in their favour. "Pray tell me, Nansen, what creature did we just see? It looked like a wolf to me, yet it seemed no ordinary wolf. I have never seen its like."

To Arvedui's surprise, Nansen did not chuckle as he always seemed to do in response to the 'Tall Men's' somewhat child-like questions. Instead, he turned his head to where the magnificent creature had vanished, and his eyes grew distant. "Snowmen have not seen a Sandulv in many years. Sandulven are elder brothers to the Snowmen. Sandulven showed Snowmen much about life in this land. But then Hekskonge drove Sandulven away. The return of the Sandulven is a sign of change."

Though Nansen's answer left him with even more questions, Arvedui nodded. At least he could understand the feeling of awe he had witnessed among their hosts, and the thought of the creature's majesty alone repelled the last of his bitter memories and renewed his determination. "That beast in Angmar has not seen the last of us," Arvedui said, though the words did not seem like his own.

Arvedui had not quite been aware of the impact his little speech had on those around him. He found himself amidst a ring of both Lossoth and Dúnedain, his men regarding him with open admiration, the Lossoth with a strange mixture of fear and awe. Then Nansen chuckled softly, which seemed to break the strange mood, and said, "If Tall Men defeat Hekskonge, Snowmen will be more than payed for helping Tall Men. But now Arvedui, foe of Hekskonge, will learn the building of a snow-house."

-

Arvedui was amazed at the Snow-men's skills to use the snow and ice that had almost killed himself and his men to their advantage. He stood with Nansen at the edge of the Lossoth's camp, upon what seemed to be a bank of snow piled up by a storm, watching in rapt fascination the activity before him. The clan's hunters had separated into three groups, each busy cutting large blocks of snow out of the ground itself, using long, strangely carved knives made of bone. The blocks they set in a large circle around each of the three holes that grew in the process. Like the stonemasons of Fornost they worked, with precision and skill, and soon two rows of snow-stones formed the bases of three icy domes.

A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that his men shared his fascination, now that they no longer worried about Telion's health and where they would spend the night. Of course, it was Turandir, who spoke first. "Maybe we could offer our assistance, my lord. I would much like to learn that skill."

Arvedui could not quite suppress a chuckle at his scout's eagerness. Grim and silent and withdrawn though he appeared, hidden beneath the weather-beaten facade lay an almost child-like curiosity that had served him well in learning the ways of the Wild. "Would your men accept our aid?" Arvedui turned to Nansen.

That request earned him an amused twinkle in Nansen's eyes, then the smaller man called out in his own tongue. Whatever he had said was met with good-natured laughter, and some of the hunters waved the Dúnedain over, a gesture of invitation to join them.

Eagerly, Turandir stepped forward, joining the group of the hunter Arvedui recognised as Markku, Nansen's eldest son. Markku handed him his carved knife and showed him how to wield it, and soon Turandir lifted his first block of snow, face alight with pride, and handed it to Markku's partner, Kirk. Glove-muffled applause erupted from behind Arvedui, and Turandir gave an exaggerated bow to his audience.

Others stepped forward to join the Lossoth; Thalanur and Angahûn, Belegond and Manomir accepted the invitation. Gildur and Romendil exchanged a glance, a silent challenge passing between them, then headed off to join their host, who seemed less than delighted about his new aides but held his tongue. Arvedui remained at Nansen's side, enjoying the other's silent company, smiling at the flurry of activity before him and the easy laughter that rose from both Lossoth and Dúnedain.

A short while later, the women joined the men, bearing pots of hot soup, followed by the children, who could hardly contain their curiosity. Arvedui gladly accepted the steaming cup Savea held out for him, savouring the hot liquid. With a grateful smile, he said, "This soup is excellent."

"This is hardly more than hot water," Savea replied with a smile of her own.

"No, it is really good," Arvedui insisted. To his surprise, Savea's face fell at his words, and Nansen's eyes hardened.

Somewhat taken aback by the reaction of his hosts, Arvedui bowed his head in deference. "But even hot water is like a feast to a man who has know nothing but hardship for months," he said by way of apology and hoped that his words were accepted the way they were meant.

Nansen's posture relaxed, Savea moved on, and Arvedui silently released the breath he had been holding. He had no idea what he had done to offend the two, but since Nansen had begun an amiable chat with the younger woman who had followed Savea, he refrained from asking. Instead, he enjoyed his soup and returned his focus upon the activity before him.

With the increase in helping hands, the groups split after the meal was over, and soon two new pits were carved from the snow while slanting walls rose about them. The children flitted about the men, but none seemed to mind, and Arvedui found himself again and again under the close scrutiny of their large, curious eyes.

For a while, Arvedui simply watched, enjoyed the laughter that accompanied the work and Nansen's quiet presence next to him. The rest of his men had joined the work, if only to lend a helping hand here and there, for now that the snow-walls rose in height, the help of the taller Dúnedain was more than welcome.

Childish shrieks of delight pierced the air. Angahûn stood, somewhat sheepishly, amidst a circle of children, the remains of a block of snow in his hands that must have been broken as he had tried to lift it. The children danced around him, chanting some rhyme in their own tongue, and Arvedui was hard pressed to not join in their laughter at the sight of grim, battle-hardened Angahûn, completely at a loss but wearing a good-natured smile, which smoothed the lines that hardship had carved into his face.

Next to him, Nansen gave an exasperate sigh, shook his head and muttered something in his own tongue. He stepped forward and gave a shout, and for a moment the children fell silent, eyes cast upon the ground. But soon the first muffled giggles could be heard again, and the children again crowded around Angahûn, tugging at his hands and clothes.

It was Arvedui's turn to raise a questioning brow at the Lossoth's leader, who presently walked back to him, still shaking his head. Catching Arvedui's inquiring look, he sighed, "Children have no manners!"

"What did they say?"

"Children's words were not polite!" Nansen replied tersely, obviously unwilling to give more details.

"Yet they seem to be rather fond of Angahûn," Arvedui said with a chuckle, "and he of them. 'Tis a long time since I last saw him smile."

"Tall Men do not laugh often?" Nansen asked quietly, his voice tinged with sadness as if he held regret for the Dúnedain's lack of mirth.

"The Witch-king gave us little cause for laughter," Arvedui sighed. "And Angahûn lost more than any of us. His wife died in child-birth, years ago, and the Witch-king first took his sister's husband and son, then his own son, his sister and her daughter. At times the fight against that beast from Angmar and his forces seems to be the sole purpose in Angahûn's life."

"That is sad," Nansen said simply as he regarded Angahûn, crouched amidst the crowd of little Lossoth, who eagerly instructed the tall man in packing the cracks between the blocks of ice forming the walls with loose snow. They chatted incessantly and broke into laughter ever so often, but would guide Angahûn's hands whenever they caught him doing something wrong.

"But he still knows laughter," Nansen added at length, his features softening. "And children love him."

"They do?" Arvedui asked, surprised at the other's change in mood.

"Children would not teach new friend if they did not like him," Nansen stated.

"And he would not teach them," Arvedui laughed as snippets of an old nursery rhyme drifted to their ears. Angahûn sang to the children, who soon tried to fall into the simple melody, while they worked together on smoothing the walls of a snow-house.

"Look, Arvedui," Nansen said after a while. "First snow-house almost done." Arvedui let his eyes follow the outstretched arm to where Gildur, Egli and Romendil emerged from the newly dug entrance of the snow-house. All three men wore a somewhat grim and determined expression, and next to him, Arvedui heard Nansen chuckle.

"Egli does not like Tall Men, Tall Men do not like Egli and each other. They did not waste words or time," Nansen said, still chuckling, and Arvedui felt compelled to join. Their grim faces stood out amongst all the others, for the earlier apprehension had all but vanished.

"Little do I know about Egli, but your judgement of Gildur and Romendil is more than accurate," Arvedui replied with amusement and a hint of a bow to acknowledge the other's perception. "They manage to put their quarrels aside in a pinch but will continue to drive any sane man to madness as soon as the danger has passed."

An inquiring look from Nansen compelled Arvedui to further explain. "They are both valiant men, each in his own way. But they never agree. So they argue about everything." Arvedui smiled as he recalled some of their more absurd fights. "At times, they can be quite entertaining; at times it is best to keep them separated in order to keep everyone sane." He gave a wry smile at Nansen. "Such is their way."

"So Arvedui told them to not argue when they left with Egli." It was more a statement than a question, and Arvedui again marvelled at Nansen's perceptiveness.

"I feared that Egli would not be best pleased with their behaviour," he answered cautiously.

Nansen chuckled softly. "Not many things please Egli. Tall Men did not quarrel in snow-house of Egli but made much noise while sleeping. Egli was not pleased about that."

"They made noise in their sleep?" Arvedui laughed. "Should you wish to witness their quibblings in person, just mention the fact to one of them and prepare for a long wait."

"Nights are long in the winter," Nansen replied, a mischievous twinkle gleaming in his eyes.

"But what about Egli?" Arvedui asked at length, unwilling to let the opportunity pass to learn more about their hosts and the tension among them that had almost led to a fight.

"Egli is hunting partner of daughter's husband. Egli is the best hunter of the clan," Nansen answered after some consideration. "Egli and Markku are like Gildur and Romendil. They are good hunters but do not often agree. Egli does not like Tall Men, Markku does not like Egli."

"So is that why Markku welcomed us while Egli did not?" Arvedui could not keep himself from asking.

Nansen sighed. "Yes and no," he said at length but seemed unwilling to say more upon that matter, and Arvedui did not press.

-

Hours later, Arvedui lay awake, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling of what would be his home for the winter. Next to him Boracuil shifted, tugging at the thick fur blanket that covered them both. With a grateful sigh Arvedui recalled the small procession between the Lossoth camp and their own as Nansen's people had brought to the Dúnedain camp all that could be spared: Furs and blankets, stone-lamps, pots and cups and food.

"Have you no need for sleep, my friend?" came Boracuil's soft voice from somewhere next to him.

"I have more need for thought," Arvedui replied.

"Should you require the ear of a friend ..."

"I thank you for your offer," Arvedui replied with a soft chuckle, "but I would not keep you from your rest. I was just thinking about the day's events."

It was Boracuil's turn to chuckle softly. "Then you shall remain awake for quite some time."

"Aye, an eventful day it has been. And most of the events turned out in our favour."

"Though our hosts were more than delighted about the outcome of the evening's hunt as well."

"They had not much luck on the hunt as of late. Nansen had not expected to even send out hunters today."

"I did not think it wise of them to leave so late in the day. But who could have thought that they would come upon snow grouses, and so many of them, so close to the camp."

"'Twas fortunate, too, that Turandir and Manomir went with them and had their share in the kill. We rose considerably in the Lossoth's esteem the moment they returned with their booty."

"And the evening meal was delicious as well. I cannot imagine the last time I ate that much."

"Aye, that was quite a feast, and prepared on such short notice at that," Arvedui replied, but then something strange stirred within him, and he fell silent.

"My friend?" Boracuil asked at length. "What troubles you?"

Arvedui turned towards Boracuil. "Do you know what day it is today?"

"I fear I lost count sometime in the endless dark of that Dwarf-mine. But wait ..." For a moment Boracuil was silent, lost in thought. "It is two days past the full moon." Boracuil turned on his side, so that he came to lie face to face with Arvedui. "It is Mettarë, my friend."

Arvedui sighed. "I had hoped to be with Fíriel and the children tonight. I only hope they are safe."

"We all hoped to be with our loved ones tonight. But at least we are out of the cold, have found shelter and aid. Even if our hosts are somewhat strange at times."

Arvedui chuckled into the darkness. "I bet they find us equally strange. You should have heard Savea's remarks about our garments."

"You must admit, my friend, that our garments are less than appropriate for this weather." Boracuil replied equally amused. "But what I deem most puzzling about the Lossoth is that it seems impossible to thank them for their efforts. Lhaeghen praised our hostess' cooking-skills the other night, and her husband said that his wife's cooking was poor at best. Right into her face. And she just sat there and smiled ..."

"Now that you mention it," Arvedui said, recalling Savea's and Nansen's strange reaction to his remarks regarding the quality of their noon meal. "I feared to have offended Nansen and Savea as well this afternoon but refrained from further inquiry. I will amend that on the morrow." Arvedui stretched and shuffled further beneath the thick fur.

"Do you expect an answer?"

"Aye, I do. He will be amused, no doubt, but he seems more than willing to teach us 'Tall Men' the ways of his people." Arvedui turned onto his other side. He felt Boracuil do the same, so that they came to lie back to back. His eyes drifted shut. "Sleep well, my friend," he said around a yawn. "And a Peaceful Mettarë," he murmured as an afterthought.

"Peaceful Mettarë, my lord," Boracuil replied, a smile audible in his voice. "And a good night to you as well."

-

_To be continued ..._

* * *

**A/N:**

_Mettarë:_ The last day of the year according to the King's reckoning.

Written by _Wolfwind fliewatuet_  
Posted: 2005-02-12


	4. The Hunt

**Frost and Thaw**

_Chapter 4: The Hunt_

Nansen finished tying the line to the last harpoon and examined it critically. "Look," he said, as if in disappointment. It has no balance, and the shaft is not straight. This is no weapon." He dropped it to the floor of the snow-house.

Savea, beside him, shook out the garments she was working on and held them at arm's length. "These are no better," she said in a frustrated tone that did not entirely hide the self-satisfaction in her eyes. "The stitching is poor, and it is too large for any of our clan." She dropped them to the floor as well. "They are fit only to be abandoned."

"Many hands have been clumsy of late." Nansen sighed. "Perhaps when a man goes to hunt, these may be left on the outskirts of the camp." It was nearly time for him to be going. He picked up his ice-hunting gear to examine it for any flaws, while his wife took down his outer garments. Even in the warmth of the snow-house, they had frozen overnight, and she diligently pounded and chewed them back into flexibility.

Years of experience meant that they finished their tasks at almost the same moment. Nansen slipped on his furs and hunting bag, and immediately the heat of the snow-house, pleasant a moment before, became oppressive. Stooping to gather up the garments and weapons from the floor, he hurried out the entry tunnel.

Cold wind struck him like a blow, stealing the warmth he had built up inside. He stood still for an instant, allowing his body to adjust. Before he could start out of camp, his dogs came up to him, barking gleefully.

"Down! Quiet!" he ordered sternly, holding his burden high where they could not gnaw at the skins. Reluctantly, they moved aside so that he could proceed with his task.

The sky was still dark, but the lamps inside the snow-houses sent out a faint glow, enough to lead his steps as he turned away from the camp of the clan. The useless items he carried needed to be abandoned away from the clan's dwellings. If that site also happened to be near the snow-houses of the Tall Men, of course such a thing was purely coincidental.

He set them down carefully in view of the entrance to the far snow-house. If the Tall Men chose to retrieve the discards, he hoped they would find them before the hides grew too stiff. They had no wives to make them supple again; they would be forced to do it themselves.

"Nansen?"

Nansen stopped in the midst of stepping away from the pile of fur and bone. He had not heard Arvedui emerging from the other snow-house. "It is early yet for rising," he answered in slight surprise.

Arvedui ignored the implied question. He was looking at the garments near Nansen's feet. "You have been bringing these things?" he inquired. "We are grateful."

Nansen shook his head, frustrated by the stranger's obtuseness. "Gifts were given when the new snow-houses were built. These are not gifts. They are ill-made, useless. They are being left here because they are of no value."

Comprehension dawned in the other man's eyes. "Ah. I see. Of course, as orphans, we have no choice but to attempt to use what others cast aside."

"Who will know?" Nansen spread his hands. "No attention is paid to refuse."

Arvedui bowed slightly, an answering smile on his lips. "Sensible, indeed." He turned away from the heap of furs. "We now all have proper clothing," he remarked. "Perhaps it is time for us to join the ice-hunt?"

Nansen paused, slightly surprised by how quickly the Tall Men had been equipped. He would have to tell Savea to cease her wasting of their skins. He also needed to decide whether it would be safe to allow the Tall Men on the ice.

"The ice-hunt is dangerous," he reminded the man once again. "Particularly to those not born to it."

Arvedui stiffened. "The same could be said of the land-hunt here, and yet we have managed to succeed at times."

Nansen knew he spoke truly; the Tall Men and their bows had been valuable additions in recent days. Even when the men had been out on the ice, the Tall Men had managed to slay enough of the birds and small creatures that the children usually hunted to feed themselves. He wished they would stay in the land-hunt, where their skills were an asset. The ice-hunt was completely different, and of it the Tall Men had no knowledge.

But it would be impossible to dissuade them. The land-hunt was the province of the boys nearly old enough to join the hunters, boys whose only thought was their opportunity to kill seal and become men. It was no surprise that the Tall Men behaved the same way.

The difference lay in the fact that the boys had fathers and uncles to teach them of hunting, while the Tall Men were alone. Nansen could do nothing more than give sparse advice. In the way of orphans, the Tall Men would learn on their own, growing stronger than those who relied upon fathers to teach them, or die.

"That is true," he answered Arvedui's statement at last. "And there is no way to come to know the ice-hunt but by experience."

The Tall Man's face lit with a smile. "Thank you," he said with a bow.

Nansen smiled in response and turned away to allow the Tall Man to recover the clothing and harpoons he had discarded. He could do no more than hope that all would be well.

o0o0o0o

"Snow-bear," Markku said.

Torsten frowned. "Why?"

"Look." Markku began to imitate the heavy strides of the Tall Men. Torsten laughed aloud.

Nansen shook his head. His sons had done nothing but jest about the Tall Men since they set out toward the Sea, and it was growing irksome.

"Speak in their tongue, so that they might have the opportunity to respond to this rudeness," he said, hoping to put a stop to their ill manners.

Instead, Torsten dropped back to walk beside one of the strangers - Thalanur, Nansen thought he was called. "Does the snow-bear live in the Southlands?" he asked with a smile.

Thalanur looked at his companions before replying. "I do not know. I have seen black bears, but I have never heard of a snow-bear. Are they similar?"

Torsten shrugged. "Snow-bear is a great white creature, taller than even the Tall Men if he stands upon his legs. He does this when he is angry. Usually, he sleeps the winter away, but sometimes he wakes up and wanders around, confused, like this." He, too, began to parody the way the Tall Men walked, still unused to the furs they wore. Markku and some of the other Snowmen laughed.

"It sounds much like the bears I have seen, except in colour," Thalanur replied, ignoring or missing the mockery. "At times they are peaceful creatures, but they can easily become dangerous. Bear hunts are perilous."

Nansen looked at the man, wondering if he had intended his words as a simple statement of fact, or whether he had recognised the jest and was making a light threat.

Torsten was not cowed. "Ah, snow-bear is dangerous, but the Sandulven can chase him off, without trouble. Snow-bear is easily confused, especially in winter, and the Sandulven tease him until he gives up and returns to his den."

"That, I have never seen," the Tall Man admitted. "We have no Sandulven in our land, only wolves and wargs, creatures corrupted by the Witch-king. They do not tease; they surround a foe, often in secrecy and under cover of darkness, and tear him down." Bitterness crept into his voice. "They are foul creatures, worthy only of destruction."

All laughter left the group, and Nansen felt anger rise in him. Did the Tall Men still doubt the honesty of the Snowmen? His people were not in the service of Hekskonge and never would be. The Tall Men had best learn that.

Another of the Tall Men broke the tense silence. "There are no wargs here, Thalanur," he said with a smile, touching the other on the arm. "Save your speeches for when we actually have a foe to fight."

"That will come soon enough, when we return home," another man said. Nansen recognised them now; they were the two men Arvedui said could not agree, Romendil and Gildur. "Our people will likely need more aid than a few heartening speeches."

"There is naught we can do about it now," Romendil countered. "We can only regain our strength, so that when we return, we may give that aid."

"Assuming that we even get home. And that there is a home when we return."

"There will be." Arvedui's tone forbade disagreement. "Our people are safe in the Grey Havens. And from there, we will retake what is ours."

There was another moment of silence after this statement, though the earlier tension was replaced with something that Nansen could not quite name. For a short moment, Arvedui seemed even taller than usual, tall and terrible and powerful like the Sea-kings from the South, matter of half-forgotten legends. Nansen blinked and the by now familiar figure of Arvedui was back: too tall, face too gaunt and clad in clothes that seemed to belong to another, but the Tall Men regarded him with open admiration, the hunters with wariness. They had not forgotten the Tall Men's earlier threat.

Startled, Nansen realised that the green-blue colour of the older, thicker ice, a shadow in the grey predawn light, already faded to a pale white. In listening to the Tall Men, he had ceased to watch how far they had yet to go. They were nearly to the edge of the fast ice. The rest of the Snowmen had noticed the change as well, and they came to a halt.

As they unfastened the dogs from the two sliding carts they had brought, Nansen glanced again at the Tall Men. He could give them no more advice - they were not kin - but still, despite his annoyance, he worried. Accidents on the ice would endanger them all.

He glanced over at Torsten, his usual hunting partner, and nodded toward the Tall Men. His son smiled in agreement.

He called Fugl to him and made his way through the group to stand beside Arvedui. As his hunting partner, at least he could give some aid to the stranger. It was far safer than allowing the inexperienced to pair off together. Torsten followed his example, joining a small group of the Tall Men that included Thalanur. He saw others among his kinsmen watching them, considering. The choice belonged to each man alone. Nansen turned to his companion. "Ready?"

Arvedui merely nodded. Nansen pointed out over the first-year ice. "Hunt seal!" he commanded Fugl.

She leapt forward, barking. Nansen trotted onto the ice behind her, Arvedui beside him.

Nansen quickly recognised that at least some of his worries had a basis. Arvedui seemed to have an unerring ability to find every patch of slick ice and slip, sometimes forced to wave his arms to keep his balance. The sight might have been funny, but it was slowing them down considerably. Nansen sighed and stopped so that his partner might reach him.

Arvedui stepped up beside him. Nansen did not speak, but he raised his harpoon conspicuously as he used the butt to test the thickness of the ice before him. Then he stepped forward, holding to the shaft for balance. Arvedui imitated him.

"The dark ice is common today," Nansen said nonchalantly.

"Dark ice?"

Nansen used his harpoon to tap a section of it before him, then stepped around it. "It can be dangerous to walk on such slick ice."

Arvedui did not answer, but when Nansen looked over at him, he saw the Tall Man intently studying the ice directly ahead of him. Relieved, he looked back ahead to see where Fugl was.

Before him, the dogs fanned out across the ice, as they had been trained. Small groups of men followed, most proceeding at the slow pace of the Tall Men. He made a mental note of where the closest groups were: Egli and Reidar up ahead to his left, and Markku, Kirk, and several of the Tall Men to his right. If any of them was in need, he would have to be able to get to them quickly.

Positions set in his mind, he returned his attention to his steps. Behind him, the sun slowly climbed above the horizon. The red glow illuminated the ice.

As the colour faded, Fugl halted and began to bark. Nansen increased his pace. She was the first of the dogs to locate a breathing hole.

"No seals will come this near the fast ice," Markku shouted good-naturedly across the ice.

"Seals will come here before Sanger even finds a breathing-hole," Nansen called back, pointing to where the other dog had stopped and was shaking his head vigorously, seeking to dislodge something.

Markku turned to look and snapped at the dog, which sprang up and began tracking forward again. "The only way a seal will be here so quickly is if She takes note of the hunter!"

"She is more likely to note the hunter who forgot to give water to the seal."

Markku flushed, and Kirk laughed in spite of himself before coming to his hunting partner's defence. "Is a child's mistake his first day upon the ice the fault of his own memory, or that of his father's teaching?"

Nansen stopped where Fugl was still pawing excitedly at the ice and reached down to pat her head. "Who can say?" he responded nonchalantly, waving aside the needling barb. "She will decide, and send the seals to the one who was not responsible for the fault."

Markku nodded and smiled, good humour restored. "She shall decide," he echoed, and passed on, farther from the fast ice.

Nansen looked up as Arvedui reached him; he had fallen behind when Nansen had increased his pace to join Fugl. "Here," he told the Tall Man, squatting down to point at the hole, only lightly covered by a thin layer of new ice. "Here will the seal come to breathe."

Arvedui examined the place and nodded, turning his harpoon and holding it ready to strike. Nansen smiled at his eagerness and reached into the hunting bag on his back.

"This is for standing upon," he directed, passing Arvedui a piece of reindeer hide. "The seals are sharp of ear; should they hear movement, they will not come."

Obediently, the Tall Man stepped onto the hide and stood motionless. Nansen took his own piece of hide to another breathing-hole several paces away and settled himself, preparing his harpoon for a quick thrust.

"And now there is only waiting."

Nansen settled himself comfortably and stood motionless. Behind him, he could hear first Egli, then Markku stop as their dogs found breathing holes. There was barking, talking, and then silence, spreading across the ice.

In the quiet, he scarcely registered the passage of time as the sun climbed higher overhead. He allowed his mind to wander freely, confident that at the sound of a seal breaking the thin ice, his harpoon would fly before thought was required.

The shout of a hunter behind him roused his attention. It was immediately echoed. He looked back. Egli and Reidar had both hurled their harpoons and were tugging on the ropes. Nansen stepped away from his own hole and went to help them, Arvedui trailing behind him.

With two men on each rope, the seals were quickly pulled to the surface. "They are large," Nansen commented admiringly as both men stooped to place fresh drinking water into the seals' mouths.

"These?" Reidar laughed. "These are merely small fish. Surely others will catch much greater prey."

Though he protested to keep away ill luck, he looked pleased. Two such seals were a fine catch.

"Perhaps," Nansen agreed, turning back toward the breathing hole he had abandoned. Before he had made it more than a few steps, however, he heard another shout. Markku had also struck a seal.

As Egli and Reidar roped their catch so that they could pull it back to the fast ice, Nansen and Arvedui moved toward Markku. Nansen's eyes widened. There were three Tall Men pulling on the rope, as well as Markku and Kirk, and they were struggling to bring in the creature. It must be one of the great bearded seals.

They arrived just as the creature was at last heaved from the water. As Nansen had suspected, the tufts of bristles on its muzzle, even beyond its unusual size, marked it as a bearded seal. Markku grinned with pride. _Likely pride in the fact that his catch exceeds that of Egli_, Nansen thought with a sigh he did not voice.

"It seems She has made Her decision," Markku said, looking up from where he squatted to give the seal a drink.

Nansen shook his head slowly. "There is still much of the day left," he told his son, keeping his face solemn.

"This catch will be beaten?" Kirk laughed. "Perhaps a whale will come to that breathing hole!"

Nansen laughed as well. "No, surely not. Two of the great seals would be quite sufficient."

"There is always a chance, however unlikely," Markku grinned. They began to tie ropes so that this seal, too, could be dragged to the sliding carts.

"A chance that dwindles with every moment spent in idle talk," Nansen replied. He turned to go. "A good catch," he added over his shoulder.

"This is nothing but a fish," Markku denied automatically. "Although, it would seem, a slightly larger fish than that of Egli."

Nansen shook his head at his son's foolhardy words, but he did not try again to make his son cease this bitter competition. Perhaps the song-fight would alleviate matters. He could only hope.

"Why did they all put water in the seals' mouths?" Arvedui inquired as they made their way back toward their breathing holes.

Nansen chuckled, amazed once again at the ignorance of these Tall Men. "The seal is always thirsty. When he gives his life, he must be thanked with a drink of water. That way, he will tell the Lady that the hunters were good men, and She will not withdraw the creatures."

"You often speak of this Lady. Who is She?"

"She is the Lady of the Seas. She can control the seals and other creatures; if She is angry at someone, She will let no prey go near him. She must be respected." They were approaching the breathing holes. "Perhaps Her story will be told at the feast."

Arvedui nodded and returned to his reindeer hide. Nansen did the same. He tried to relax. For some reason, it was difficult. Something felt wrong. He looked around. Egli and Reidar were more than halfway to the sliding carts; the group pulling Markku's seal were not too far behind. As he watched them, wondering what disturbed him, Markku sped up, as if trying to catch Egli. His quarry looked back and broke into a run as well. It quickly became a race. Nansen almost thought he could hear Markku's laughter.

There might be trouble when they reached the fast ice, but Kirk and Reidar would surely prevent their hunting partners from doing anything too foolish. That was not what made him uneasy.

He scanned across the ice, but only motionless hunters met his eyes. Nothing was wrong.

The answer came when a sudden gust of wind pushed the wolverine ruff away from his face. Before him, a thin layer of snow swirled out toward the open water. The wind was changing.

Without second thought, he spun his harpoon from a ready-to-throw position into one more suitable for walking and grabbed up his reindeer hide. He broke into a run. He only made it a few steps, however, before memory pulled him to a halt. The Tall Men would not know of their danger.

He spun around to face his hunting partner. The man had heard his footsteps and looked up, his own harpoon drifting down to rest against the ground.

"Arvedui!" Nansen shouted, hoping the man would heed him. "The ice moves! Run!"

He was too far away to read the Tall Man's face, but the stiffening of his posture showed that he had understood the warning. Instead of joining Nansen, however, he turned away. Nansen was about to call to him again when he realised that the man was looking for his companions.

His back to Nansen, Arvedui yelled something that the Snowman could not understand. The effect on the Tall Men, however, was instantaneous. Each man broke into a run, following the Snowmen, who had already begun the race for safety.

Confident that his men were alerted, Arvedui joined Nansen, and the two men began the gruelling run for the fast ice. The distance was not short, and Nansen spared a brief thought of gratitude that Arvedui had not insisted on coming out on the ice the first day he and his men had arrived at the camp. The Tall Men had been exhausted and would not have been able to deal with the treacherous moving ice.

Alternating his gaze between the sliding carts and the ice before his feet, he watched for sudden shifts while trying to keep to the most direct line for the fast ice. Arvedui stumbled on an uneven patch of ice, and Nansen caught his arm before he could fall, dragging him onward. If they did not hurry, the ice would begin to shift beneath them, and they could fall into the icy water below.

That possibility was looking more likely with each step. Arvedui's feet were slipping under him, and he was having too much trouble keeping his balance to run at full speed. Nansen found himself slowing down to stay beside the Tall Man, reaching out often to save him from falls.

Nansen measured the distance to the fast ice once again. It seemed not to change, and his worry grew. However, he did not see any new fractures opening between them and the fast ice. He only hoped that the Lady's forbearance would last.

Beside him, Arvedui was beginning to breathe more heavily. The Tall Man was still weakened by the foolish clothing he had worn out for days in the snow, and he was clearly unused to running on ice. The two combined made their flight across the ice far more difficult than it should have been.

Nansen spared a moment to look to both sides, catching sight of the rest of the Tall Men. They were no better off than Arvedui, but they did not appear to be significantly worse. To his relief, some of his kinsmen were aiding them.

Nansen looked down again just in time to avoid a patch of slippery dark ice. Arvedui was not so lucky. Seeing Nansen turn, he tried to follow suit, but he was too near the slippery spot and too clumsy. Nansen felt the ice quiver as the Tall Man fell heavily.

He checked his run just long enough to reach a hand down and pull the Tall Man back to his feet. "Come!" he called, sparing a smile, despite their circumstances. "This is no time for a rest!"

Within a heartbeat, Arvedui was up and running again. Gradually, he was beginning to learn how to run on the ice. He slipped less often with each breath.

Nansen looked to the fast ice again. This time, to his relief, it was clear that they were growing closer. Indeed, some of his kinsmen had already reached it. Relief suffused him.

But then the dark splintering cracks started to appear in the ice before his feet. Fractures were beginning to open. The first of the cracks were small enough to take in stride, but they grew quickly as the wind continued to blow the ice away from the shore. Soon they could see the dark, chill water beneath.

"Is a swim desirable?" Nansen inquired as they leapt one such crevasse. A splash to their left stopped any answer his companion might have made. He slowed, although he dared not halt his own run for the fast ice until he knew exactly what they faced. The fractures were growing in the direction of the splash, he noted absently. A longer glance revealed that Aricin had fallen. Apparently, his grandson had misjudged the fractures, but his hunting partner was coming to his aid ... Nansen blinked. No, it was not Kirk. It was one of the Tall Men who threw himself on the ice and reached out to Aricin.

Nansen applauded the Tall Man's courage, but his lack of knowledge of ice rescues was glaringly apparent. He did not properly brace himself, reached out too far, and began to slip. Worse, the piece of ice he lay upon was small, and at that moment it hit another floe with a shudder and began to slope, threatening to spill the Tall Man into the water beside Aricin.

Nansen had not realised he had turned and begun running to their aid until he looked down to leap another crack in the ice. Arvedui was a step before him, and Reidar was coming from the fast ice, but their aid was not necessary. Stian and Ingo were nearer than any of them. Ingo reached out to Aricin from the opposite side of the fracture, while Stian shouted to the Tall Man. Nansen caught Arvedui by the arm.

"They are well enough. Come. The fast ice grows no closer."

Arvedui would clearly have preferred to continue, but Nansen refused to release him. "There is no time to waste in foolishness," he insisted. "Come."

The Tall Man on the floe had managed to get to his feet without falling into the water - an impressive feat, considering how off-balance he had been - and was preparing to jump. Reluctantly, Arvedui turned to follow Nansen to the safety of the fast ice.

They reached the group of men around the sliding carts just before Aricin arrived. Nansen grinned at Ingo's cheerful teasing. "Such a graceful leap, straight into the Lady's embrace."

"So eager to go visit Her?" Stian inquired, laughing. Aricin, struggling into his raincoat to keep him warm while his coat dried, did not reply.

"Clearly, She was not eager to have him. She took one taste and spat him back out." Laughing, the Snowmen gathered around, all prepared to tease the hapless Aricin.

"She had a different man in mind the entire time," Aricin countered. He nodded toward Manomir. "That man was Her true desire. That fall was merely Her attempt to lure him in. But he was too quick for Her."

Nansen waited for the Tall Man to join in the joking, or at least turn aside the bad luck attracted by the compliment, but he did not speak. Belatedly, Nansen recalled their unfamiliarity with proper ways and spoke for him. "Quick? Were he quick, he would have easily outpaced such a slow runner as my grandson." He shook his head. "It is a wonder that he has not fallen in more often, with his slow pace."

"The true wonder is that the Tall Men did not all fall into the water," Reidar countered. "They are as clumsy upon the ice as seals upon the land."

Nansen looked at him, worried. It was Reidar's right and responsibility to defend his son against others' jests, but his answer had held too much hostility for Nansen's peace of mind.

Torsten ignored that implication. "Land-seal!" he exclaimed in delight, pointing at the Tall Men. "That is a better name than snow-bear. Look at them. They are land-seals." He laughed merrily.

"Of course," Markku said, only a hint of the irony of his statement conveyed in his voice. "After all, they must be prey, not something dangerous like snow-bear."

The rest of the Snowmen laughed, as Torsten tried to think of a way to defend his own choice of name. The Tall Men, however, did not. They spoke to one another in their other language, the one the Snowmen could not understand. Looking at them, Nansen thought he saw signs of anger. But who grew angry over mere jests?

Egli, too, had noticed the Tall Men's behaviour. "The Tall Men have no manners," he said to Reidar in the tongue of the Snowmen. Although his voice was quiet, everyone heard the words, and there was a moment of silence.

"It seems the Snowmen have no manners," Nansen interjected. "No one has complimented Aricin on trying a second time to catch a seal bare-handedly."

The boy blushed fiercely as the other men turned their jokes back on him. Nansen smiled to himself. It was something of a tradition to tell a boy that on his first hunt he was expected to jump into the water, swim after a seal, and slay it with his hands alone. Often the boy caught on to the joke, but sometimes, with a good enough storyteller and a naïve enough youth, the results were highly amusing.

Nansen looked back at the Tall Men, wondering if anyone had tried to tell them that old tale. They were still speaking in their own tongue, and Nansen felt a surge of annoyance. If they were making no effort to join the hunt, why had they come along?

Walking over to Arvedui, he gestured away from the hunters. He would ask. He led them far enough that the laughter of the Snowmen was soft in the distance before stopping, cocking his head to look the taller man in the eye. "Egli has said Tall Men have no manners, and perhaps he is correct."

Arvedui glared at him. "No manners? We have stood there listening to your people insult and laugh at us, and you accuse _us_ of having no manners?"

Nansen was surprised at the anger in Arvedui's voice, but he glared in return. "Tall Men stand stiff as frozen hides and speak words the Snowmen cannot understand. This is polite?"

"I merely asked my Men to remain calm in the face of your people's insults. Manomir risked his life to help Aricin, and you mocked him!"

Taking a deep breath, Nansen tried to understand the stranger's words. "The Tall Man was brave to try to help when he knows not the ice. Foolish, but brave. Snowmen were impressed."

"So they laughed? He nearly died. What was there to laugh about?" Arvedui's voice was edged.

Nansen spread his hands. "Snowmen laugh."

"At him?"

"At anything." He folded his arms across his chest. "If he does not wish them to laugh at him, he should say something to make them laugh at another."

"Such as Aricin? He nearly died as well."

Nansen did not move as he reiterated, "Snowmen laugh."

"I cannot laugh when another of my men nearly dies."

There was deep grief in the man's voice, and Nansen unfolded his arms to look more closely at him. Suddenly he remembered the conversation they had had when the snow-houses were built. "Hekskonge has stolen laughter from all of the Tall Men?"

"I beg your pardon?" Arvedui's gaze had been distant; now he shook his head and fixed bright grey eyes on Nansen.

"Hekskonge has sucked laughter from the Tall Men like marrow from a bone." Nansen grew more certain as he spoke. "Tall Men see near death where Snowmen see life. Tall Men see insult where Snowmen see jest. Tall Men have no laughter. They think only of fighting 'the beast from Angmar.'" He felt sickened as he imagined such a life. "Tall Men grieve always, too much."

Arvedui had been listening intently, but at the last statement he became angry again. "I cannot count how many of my people fell during the last year. My own brother died scarcely a month ago. How can you say I grieve overmuch?"

"When grief harms the clan, any is too much." Nansen gestured back to where the hunters stood. "Laughter is part of the hunt. If Tall Men do not laugh with Snowmen, they do not hunt with Snowmen."

For the space of a few breaths they stood in silence. At last Arvedui said, "We cannot laugh at death, but we will join the hunt. In any way we can."

Nansen only nodded, hoping it would be enough.

o0o0o0o

_To be continued ..._

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks, Laurelin, for letting us know that you like our story! 

Written by _Wolfwind & fliewatuet_  
Posted: 2005-03-10


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